


Talk Me Down

by jonnyhustle



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hospitals, M/M, MMA Fighter Ronan Lynch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-03 23:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5311409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnyhustle/pseuds/jonnyhustle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was both expected and probable that Ronan Lynch’s diagnosis would be a broken hand. Expected because of the purple tone his skin had taken on, the swelling he’d woken up to that made it difficult when the nurse asked him to remove the leather bands on his wrist. The way that he couldn’t bend all five of his fingers. The way that one of them stood at an angle it simply shouldn’t. And it was probable, too, given that no matter the intent or skill, brick walls were often unyielding and resilient. So, Ronan wasn’t surprised when the x-ray showed multiple fractures, but Gansey somehow was still taken aback. </i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“Tell me again what happened,” Gansey asks as they wait to be called back to have Ronan’s hand set and plastered.</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>Ronan shrugs, “I learnt a very important lesson on what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”</i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“So you’re an unstoppable force now?”  </i></p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>“Well my fingers aren’t immovable objects, it turns out,” he retorts.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Talk Me Down

It was both expected and probable that Ronan Lynch’s diagnosis would be a broken hand. Expected because of the purple tone his skin had taken on, the swelling he’d woken up to that made it difficult when the nurse asked him to remove the leather bands on his wrist. The way that he couldn’t bend all five of his fingers. The way that one of them stood at an angle it simply shouldn’t. And it was probable, too, given that no matter the intent or skill, brick walls were often unyielding and resilient. So, Ronan wasn’t surprised when the x-ray showed multiple fractures, but Gansey somehow was still taken aback. 

“Tell me again what happened,” Gansey asks as they wait to be called back to have Ronan’s hand set and plastered.

Ronan shrugs, “I learnt a very important lesson on what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.”

It’s the middle of the night and the emergency room is quieter than it would be if it were the weekend. Instead, the few people waiting, with the exception of Ronan, seem to be there for legitimate accidents. There’s one boy that Ronan would be more aggressively hitting on if he didn’t appear to be bleeding from his left ear, but instead he leers from a distance while Gansey continues to needle him for information that would be obvious to anyone who wasn’t, well, Gansey. 

“So you’re an unstoppable force now?” 

“Well my fingers aren’t immovable objects, it turns out,” he retorts, smirking through the haze of pain. 

He’d been offered painkillers but had shaken his head, had grown even more visibly agitated, which was a feat within itself, when the nursing staff pressed the issue. Ronan didn’t have anything against drugs, prescription or otherwise, but preferred to not be the one taking them. When he asked instead for alcohol he received a lecture from both the staff and Gansey. 

He made the decision to wait for an opportune bathroom break to access the flask stashed in the pocket of his leather jacket than to risk it being confiscated before he’d even have the chance to open it with his busted hand. 

Now, though, he considers what would’ve happened if he had held onto the painkillers and given them to the boy with the bleeding ear. Gansey’s pacing up and down the hallway had gotten Ronan seen faster than any of the others in the waiting room. 

Gansey rolls his eyes, “What was it you said when I broke my thumb punching Whelk?”

Ronan sighs, a great put-upon sigh, “I said I taught you better than to keep your thumb inside your fist, and I did.”

“And then what did you do?”

Scowling, Ronan answers with the truth because he doesn’t lie, “I punched you to prove that I could punch someone and not break my thumb. I don’t regret it. I’d do it again. It was an important lesson for you to learn.”

“So, how come you suddenly don’t know how to throw a punch?” 

The way Gansey spoke suggested that he was proud for having worked out the mystery of how Ronan “fights anything with a social security number” Lynch fractured his hand and bruised his knuckles. 

“Was it the Boxer’s fracture that gave it away?” Ronan asks, clearly tired with Gansey’s cleverness. 

“Maybe you’re just predictable.”

“There are worse things I could be,” he said, before growing tired of the conversation, “If the doctor gets off his ass and decides I’ve been waiting for long enough, can you tell him I’ll be right back?” 

Gansey nods, reaching out for a magazine on the table in front of him.

He says, “Remember you won’t be able to take anything for the pain if you drink whatever’s in that flask in your pocket,” like it’s a usual send-off when someone announces they need to use the bathroom. 

For friends of Ronan, though, it was. 

Anything condemning the use of alcohol, fast cars and general self-destructive behaviour was something it wouldn’t hurt to have Ronan hearing at least once more. 

Instead of “I love you” Gansey sent Ronan links to documentaries on the dangers of street racing. 

Instead of “I love you too” Ronan sent Gansey a limited-edition hand-drawn penis and left an insightful note for him on the message boards. 

Touched, Gansey folded up the drawing and carried it around in his wallet like one would a photograph of their child. 

In return, Ronan vowed to stay off the roads. The promise lasted only as long as it took for the mechanics to repair his car from the wreck that had Gansey scouring the internet for documentaries in the first place. 

It was the thought that counted, though, Ronan argued. And as much as Gansey thought otherwise, he was still there when Ronan’s self-destructive tendencies meant he needed to be taken to the hospital in the middle of the night. 

Ronan stands up to use the bathroom, deliberately over-emphasising his walk as he passes the boy with the bleeding ear. He pauses at the end of the row where the boy is sitting, pretending to deliberate over candy choices in the vending machine. 

He thinks about offering to buy something sweet for the boy but instead settles on asking, “What happened to you?” in a tone that suggests he doesn’t really care. 

It’s the closest Ronan tends to get to a lie. 

“Poor life decisions,” the boy answers, in a tone that suggests he really does care, then he offers, “Adam.” 

“Ronan,” Ronan returns, briefly moving closer to hold out his hand for a shake before remembering his diagnosis. 

Ronan lifts the the flask from his pocket, “Want to make another?” 

He tries to shake it tantalisingly. Tries being the operative word because the effect is ruined when he twinges his hand, dropping the flask and watching in something akin to horror as it skitters across the floor. Ronan diverts his eyes away from Adam, seeking Gansey instead like he often does when he knows he’s done something disproving, but Gansey is instead typing something into his phone.

Ronan wonders what the link will lead to this time. Addictions to pretty boys with a tendency to fight, if Adam’s injuries are anything to go by, or addictions to the alcohol that erases all memories of Ronan’s attraction to said pretty boys?

**Author's Note:**

> This is a work-in-progress, and I'm keen to see what everyone thinks as this is my first fic in this fandom. 
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr is here.](http://officialmaxdomi.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> [ I would also just like to point you in the direction of this amazing fan art that helped inspire Talk Me Down](http://swifty-fox.tumblr.com/post/133696582316/but-what-if-professional-boxer-ronan-bonus-me)


End file.
